


Transformation

by LightDarkPheonix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Demonlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightDarkPheonix/pseuds/LightDarkPheonix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was pressed quite suddenly against the wall of the alley, and John's blank face filled his view, knife pressed to his throat. "Get out of my friend," the army doctor whispered, while Greg just blinked at him, confused.<br/>"I'm not... John, I'm still me," he said, exasperated, doing his best to look non threatening. This was belied, unfortunately, by the fact that his eyes had gone visibly black as soon as John had attacked him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transformation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dirty_Corza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Let Them Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/308563) by [Dirty_Corza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza). 



> Wrote this as a continuation of Let Them Fall by Dirty_Corza

It was a normal day, or as normal as a day could ever be when you were the Partner to an centuries old demon. Greg was smoking, a habit he probably should have kicked long before, but had become comforting long after the nicotene stopped affecting his body. Mycroft had said that this was a rather useful side effect of their partnership. He couldn't get sick, even if he sat out in the blistering cold with nary a stitch on him.

He had bundled up anyway. It was very nearly freezing out, winter having taken London a lot harder this year than usual. Even the Canadian and New Englander tourists were dressing warmly.

He dropped the cigarette, and breathed for a moment, air crystallizing into a fine mist. A lot had changed since he had become Partners with Mycroft. For one, he had learned demons could love, and rather fiercely. The telepathic bond had been useful, the demon incapable of hiding from his affections.

Sighing again, he stretched. This murder had been a particularly bad one, part of a series of Satanic rituals that Mycroft and Sherlock both said was in fact useless at summoning even a weakling sprite. Murder with no real purpose was always the worst, even if their perpetrator had a mind diseased beyond the barest grasp of reason.

He straightened, weight fully on his feet, not the back wall. He could feel eyes on him, and he immediately began looking for ways out. If push came to shove, he would summon Mycroft.

Are you alright? The man had sensed his worry, and as always Greg felt vaguely touched by the genuine concern that he was feeling.

Yeah. Probably just paranoia. Go back to work. Mycroft's biggest worry, to Greg's surprise, was his sudden inability to hide even classified information. Greg had reassured him that he honestly did not care, and probably wouldn't pay that much attention to what Mycroft was doing. As long as there was a legal system that punished the truly guilty and let the innocent go free, Greg didn't really care who was in power.

Mycroft's presence retreated slightly, but the distraction of his mental conversation with the demon caused Greg not to notice the person coming near him.

He was pressed quite suddenly against the wall of the alley, and John's blank face filled his view, knife pressed to his throat. "Get out of my friend," the army doctor whispered, while Greg just blinked at him, confused.

"I'm not... John, I'm still me," he said, exasperated, doing his best to look non threatening. This was belied, unfortunately, by the fact that his eyes had gone visibly black as soon as John had attacked him.

"Oh? Last time I checked you were a human Partner, not a demon."

Greg's eyes widened. "Oh shit. Shit. Myc warned me this might happen... huh." The surge of adrenaline from being attacked switched something on inside him. His aura flared, and John winced, stumbling backwards. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry John!" he said, panicking. He didn't want to hurt his friend. He just didn't want to die.

To John's eyes, it was as if the tendrils of darkness swirling around Greg's body expanded, then vanished, like they had been sucked back in. Proof to the demon hunter that this was not possessed. "Hey, it's fine," he said, dropping the knife to seal the point. It clattered on the asphalt of the alley way, and Greg visibly relaxed, the black tendrils coiling back out around him.

His eyes had gone back to their normal color, and to John there was just the barest hint of blackness.

  
  



End file.
